


Blood red shirt

by LittleSister



Category: Masters of Sex
Genre: F/M, I just really really liked Michael's outfit, in which Lizzy takes charge, paleyfest 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2544338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSister/pseuds/LittleSister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Lizzy have been lovers in secret for a while, and Michael likes to tease Lizzy every now and then. Thing is, this time it ends kind of differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood red shirt

**Author's Note:**

> It started out as something really light and careless.. and then I got bored and made it a little darker and angstier.  
> (also, I wrote this all while completely toasted, I only corrected typos and added the conclusion.. so thank vodka and OJ, folks)

He always does that. He damn well knows the effect it has on her, and he’s probably doing it on purpose in spite of how terribly wrong the moment may be, but Lizzy can’t help marveling at how he manages to keep a straight face as well as a straight, serious tone while he just _knows_ what must be going on inside her mind.

Michael keeps answering the question, all gushing wits and philosophy, but Lizzy can tell his head’s not completely in it as she focuses on his posture and movements from the corner of her eye: the arrogance in the way he just slightly slouches in his seat with his knees spread wide, blades of light dancing between the creases of his silken shirt. She can see the mischievous gleam in his eyes as his right hand comes landing on the armrest, inches away from Lizzy’s, and his fingers begin to trace lazy circles on the clear surface. She tries harder and harder to avert her gaze, digging her teeth into her lower lip as Michael starts to casually tap and graze back and forth along the polished wood, shooting a brief look in her direction, which is probably meant to be a signal that it’s her turn to speak, but Lizzy feels like he just ran a knuckle down her bare back, judging from the shiver and tingle she feels along her spine. She swallows hard and shuts that part of her mind so hard she starts to believe she’s gonna have an aneurysm any moment.

Walking down a mildly crowded corridor, no more than ten minutes after the panel’s done, Lizzy tries (and miserably fails) to work the steam off thinking about anything –literally anything- that isn’t him.. or how the black suit jacket he was wearing framed his shoulders or the spot where his throat disappeared below his shirt collar.

His shirt.

That very piece of clothing is exactly what Lizzy was trying to avoid thinking about. Oh, she remembers very well the first time she saw Michael wearing that shirt, but what she particularly remembers is how ferociously she pushed it up around his ribs as she dropped down on her knees, his belt unbuckled and her hands working his pants open, Michael’s fingers threading through her hair as his thighs started to tremble with anticipation. She remembers how he sounded like he was about to choke, when she laid her tongue flat on the hard shape of his cock, still trapped inside his boxers. She remembers the different sensations on her palms as one of her hands grabbed at Michael’s hipbone, the other fisting in the silk of his rumpled shirt. They were in her trailer after a long day of shooting, mid-season 1, and Lizzy couldn’t really recall what finally made it all happen, after months of endless but harmless teasing and picking on each other, so she tells herself it was that damn shirt: the blood red shirt. After that, every time Michael wore it, Lizzy knew shit was about to go very, very much down.

 

By the time she reaches her dressing room, she starts to suspect her blood may have started to boil somewhere between her detailed recollection of all the episodes involving said shirt, from their first time in her trailer to the night Michael threatened to fuck everything up, slipping a shameless hand under her dress while they shared a taxi, mercilessly fingering her until she had to almost chew her own wrist off not to scream, a careless little smile plastered on his face. The smug bastard.

Lizzy turns the handle and gets into the tiny room with her eyes closed, taking a deep breath to try and steady the pumping of her heart, when the vague sound of someone humming reaches her ears.

He’s standing in front of the mirror, hands in his pockets with his chest pushed out and a grin that makes Lizzy want to throw him on the floor and get him to beg for mercy. Twice. Not in a particularly nice way.

 

“I fuckin' hate you, you know that right?”

Michael turns around and tries to stifle the laugh shaking his shoulders, his tongue just barely poking out between his teeth, but they both go silent as they face each other, something darker vaguely showing behind Michael’s expression in response to Lizzy’s not so feigned anger.

She closes the space between them in a few steps and lays a hand flat on Michael’s chest, slowly closing her fist around the fabric of his shirt and sharply tugging him towards her, his nose bumping on her cheekbone as he tries to kiss her. Lizzy dodges his lips to go for his neck instead, and she bites down hard on his skin, reveling in the sharp hiss he takes as the all too familiar taste of him floods her senses and the slow, possessive drag of his hands down her sides pulling her closer to him makes her anger clash and brawl with the warmth creeping up her nerves.

 

Lizzy’s head spins with questions and jealousy and everything she’s shoved on the back of her mind during the previous months and it’s too much to be voiced aloud, ’cause words would only make what she feels sound ridiculously small and petty, but she has to tell him, she has to let him know somehow that all of this is driving her mad and that she’s so pissed at him for getting so under her skin without her consent, so under her skin that she can barely control herself in public and okay, the sex always makes her forget everything (hell, it makes her forget what her name is), but then he leaves and Lizzy feels like an abyss has opened inside her chest and threatens to swallow her whole. She screws her eyes shut and she’s suddenly furious with herself for letting this all happen, because she can twist and turn all she wants, but in the end she’s the one who always comes running when he does nothing more than tease her, like she’s a raging bull and all Michael has to do is wave a red shirt in front of her eyes to make it all go to hell every single time.

 

It takes Lizzy a couple of seconds to realize Michael’s lips are now clasped against her own, his tongue meeting hers like it belongs there, moving in a way he knows will make Lizzy slowly come undone until she just gives into him.. But she doesn’t let him win. Not this time.

She reaches for one of his hands and takes it off her hip, squeezing it as tight as she can before pushing him back against the wall. A sneer twists Michael’s face, but she can still see the smile in the way he looks at her and Lizzy straightens as she strolls towards him, venom pouring down from her eyes, pinning him right where he is.

She runs her hands down his chest and hooks her fingers where his shirt disappears inside his pants, starting to take it out and unbuttoning it as Michael shoves his jacket off, his breath coming in hot, hurried puffs on Lizzy’s neck. She takes the shirt off and quickly stops him before he can pull down the zipper of her white dress: her eyes bore into his and she plants a hand on his collar bone, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“Hands behind your back.”

Michael complies and a faint growl forms in his throat as Lizzy twists and wrings his shirt before reaching behind him, pressing her body to his, and tying the material around his wrists, tugging hard on the ends to make sure he can’t get free.

There is now just a vague hint of concern in Michael’s eyes, and Lizzy feels power cloud her thoughts as she goes back to the spot she bit on his neck, sucking just hard enough to leave a bright red mark that won’t last. She’s keeping the bruises for other places.

Her hands roam across Michael’s shoulders, nails trailing down his spine and shoulder blades as he starts getting restless under Lizzy’s touch and the fleeting kisses she scatters along his jaw.

Lizzy kisses her way down his chest and Michael groans when her mouth brushes one of his nipples, so Lizzy flicks her tongue out and circles it, scraping her teeth on the soft skin, moving further down just as he starts to enjoy it. She slowly moves across his body, angry hickeys starting to bloom on his ribs and below his collar bones. She presses a finger against one of them, her lips soft on the shell of Michael's ear, and she cant tell if its pain or pleasure thats making him moan and shiver, but she tells herself she doesnt really care now that her hands are finally crawling down his sides and coming to a stop on both his hipbones.

Michael's arms twitch, his whole body spasming and struggling, caught between the blind fury of arousal coursing through his muscles and the restricting bond around his wrists. Lizzy knows hes trying hard to hold back his moans when he lets his head fall heavily on her shoulder, panting like hes been running for months and hes finally come to a stop. She brings a hand up and threads it through the hair on the back of.his head while, down between their bodies, her index finger is tracing the hard, insistent outline of Michaels cock, pulsing hot behind a thin layer of cloth.

Lizzy keeps palming and stroking him through his pants until all theres left of him is just an incoherent, stuttering mess, Michaels mouth wide open against the side of Lizzy's neck in a voiceless scream, high pitched whines and low growls alternating each other in his throat as Lizzy's lips torture his cheek and ear. She chuckles darkly against his skin before swallowinghis pleas in a wet, messy kiss, finally undoing his zipper and shoving his pants and boxers down around his quivering thighs. She lightly pulls at Michael's bottom lip before pulling away and going down on her knees, locking their eyes together as her breath ghosts over his cock, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to his guts.

 

Michael leans against the wall and slams his head back on it as he feels his arms and shoulders go numb, still restlessly straining to break free from his bloody shirt. His hands itch furiously with the need to feel Lizzy's hair between his fingers, guide her head as he thrusts into her mouth, but all he ends up doing is twisting and turning helplessly as she licks a slow, scorching line up his shaft, her hands possessively closed on his thighs, lips locking around the head while her tongue presses on the slit, then slides down to his frenulum before she starts to swirl it again and again and again. He has to squeeze his eyes shut and sink his teeth into his lower lip not to scream the whole place to the ground when Lizzy moans straight into his erection and hollows her cheeks, sucking him so hard Michael can feel his blood throb in every single bruise she left on him along with the ferocious pulsing of his cock. He tries to buck his hips up, but she keeps his legs still and Michael starts to moan like he's about to die, 'cause if he isn't, he surely feels like he is when one of Lizzy's hands closes around his balls, the other one stroking the base of his cock as her tongue keeps working the underside and going back to the head. His stomach is right in the middle of an earthquake and everything takes the color of Lizzy's irises when she looks up at him with those big, dark eyes and his nails dig into his palms so hard he can feel the skin tearing and he tastes blood and Lizzy on his tongue as he comes with her name on his lips, his knees wobbling, his whole body shaking and tingling.

 

Michael flops down on trembling knees just as Lizzy stands up in front of him, grabbing his face and tilting it up while she bends down to kiss him slow and fierce. She eventually frees his wrists and Michaels arms hang stiffly at his sides like logs, his eyes wide and still hazy with bliss and something that looks like pure astonishment.

Lizzy turns around without a word, tossing the blood red shirt on a chair before closing the door behind her, leaving Michael stunned, panting and still half naked, kneeling on the floor.

 

Michael does absolutely nothing for a couple of minutes, trying to catch his breath and to collect some of his dignity. Finally standing up again, he goes back to the mirror, where he was when she came in, and puts his shirt back on, staring at the web of creases all over it and at the angry marks around his wrists.. and hes not sure hes gonna be wearing that shirt again any time soon.

…

Oh, who is he kidding?

Hes gonna wear it at every fuckin convention.


End file.
